Family
by Koraki
Summary: Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories of conflict, friendship, and love, most only loosely related to canon. 12: A house floating in mid-air (Ian and Sinead); 13: A dewy spider web (Nikolai)
1. 1: A dusty old top hat

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 1. A dusty old top hat

Rating: K

Genre: Family

Characters: Broderick Wizard, Jonah Wizard

Note: Shameless fanon. You may perceive the ending as ironic or just as an excited kid, whichever suits your fancy.

.oOo.

It was love at first sight.

Perhaps the existence of affection between a boy and his appropriately dubbed Wizard Hat was debatable, but Broderick didn't think so. With the marked absence of a puppy, a sibling, or any other sort of sociable critter resounding through his son's childhood, an old, velvety black top hat was perhaps just the companion Jonah needed.

The relationship lasted nearly three years to the day. It had started – quite unexpectedly, really – when Broderick's grandma passed away and he headed down to Georgia to collect the few knick-knacks she had left to him, as well as any other stuff the rest of the family didn't care to claim. Among the assorted curios, the weathered top hat had caught his eye, and he'd brought it home along with a banjo, a distinctly ugly ceramic cat, several ferns, and a good-sized heap of moth-eaten knit blankets.

The ferns perished on the return flight.

After a day of feeling its creepy lopsided stare stabbing him right between the shoulders, Broderick gratefully allowed the cat to mysteriously disappear out of his car window into the sparse shrub barrier around his cousin-in-law's yard – he had a strange feeling that she'd cherish it.

He'd have gladly kept his grandpa's old banjo and the colorful, albeit holey blankets, but Cora wouldn't have those things in _her_ house, thank you very much.

But the hat made its way under his wife's radar, quite by accident, really. For whatever reason, it decided to enter his mind the very next Saturday that he found himself alone with Jonah, so on the spur of the moment Broderick suggested that they try out an adventure game instead of holding their two-man-band's usual concert. Jonah was open to the idea, and so began the epic tale of a quirky young wizard-slash-rapper, an evil sorcerer king, a magical hat, and a couple of invisible squirrels. Broderick wasn't exactly sure where those came from, but he played along.

The saga wended its way down paths of darkness and light, of humor and drama, of raucous shrieks and glorious song, and inevitably it was the old Wizard Hat that saved the young hero every time he was near despair. Sometimes it whispered words of sage advice in his ear, while other times it produced bursts of celestial melodies that drove back the threatening evil. And though throughout almost three years of Saturdays, young Ha'noj never quite managed to defeat Kiredorb forever, he had often cornered him and cast powerful spells of bondage with the power of the holey Wizard Hat –

"I don't wanna do it anymore," Jonah said suddenly, brushing the hat off his head with a dismissive twitch of his hand. An air of finality lingered in his words as he blinked slowly at the floor, then slid his eyes tentatively up towards his father. "I got an audition today again anyways. With Mom. Soon." Almost apologetically, he bent down again and scooped the hat off of the floor, cradling it for a moment as if it were a child. Then, as if remembering himself, he thrust it away, holding it out towards Broderick. Broderick took it wordlessly and Jonah's shoulders trembled momentarily but didn't yet slump. "It's not really a wizard hat, anyways," the boy offered lamely, making an excuse for his actions. "It's a magician hat. Magicians are kinda fake. No real powers, yeah, Dad?"

"No." Broderick had been turning the ragged black hat in his hands, running his fingers over the now-rough cloth worn by the eager touch of a child's hands. "They're just actors, Jonah, you're right."

"But you know what?" Jonah's dark eyes sparkled. "You know what the _real_ thing is, Dad?" He didn't wait for his father's answer, but plunged right ahead into the answer. "Wizards! They don't fake at all, an' guess what? I'm a Wizard. _I'm the real thing!_"

.oOo.


	2. 2: Lily, the cuddly black kitten

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 2. Lily, the cuddly black kitten

Rating: K+ (for mild language and a suggestive comment)

Genre: Humor/Friendship

Characters: Ian Kabra, Evan Tolliver; _mentions of_ Amy Cahill, Dan Cahill, Saladin, animal OC

Note: What would happen if a feral kitten invaded Ian Kabra's home? This was intended to be about a quarter of its final length, but once started, I couldn't stop. Ian's middle name is fanon; I feel it's appropriate, as the Lucian branch holds power as something to be highly desired ("Augustus" means "great" or "venerable"). This oneshot takes place at some point after the Vespers have been defeated (remember, in this oneshot nothing after TMP is canon).

.oOo.

**To:** Evan Tolliver

**Re:** Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, Tikhaya Bay, Franz Josef Land, Russia

Tolliver,

Many thanks for the detailed subject line. A simple "Skala Rubini, Tikhaya Bay" would suffice, however. Please don't overexert yourself on my account.

The so-called Vesper activity – a rather hasty label to slap onto a possibly trivial suspicion, in my opinion – was duly investigated by several top Lucian agents native to the area. Evidence of a temporary settlement some years ago was discovered, but my agents uncovered nothing activated within the past decade. You may assure your intrepid in-laws that all is well.

One final matter remains to be discussed. I seem to recall that you are somewhat of an expert in the area of _Felis silvestris catus_, that is, the domestic cat. Your advice on a particular predicament of mine would be most helpful, though not at all necessary.

Sincerely,

Ian Augustus Kabra

**To:** Ian Kabra

**Re: **Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, Tikhaya Bay, Franz Josef Land, Russia

Kabra,

Thanks for telling me that. I'll be sure to keep it in mind next time I have to contact you. Hopefully that won't be too soon, even though our conversations are always a pleasure.

Okay, that's a relief. You may assure your poor broken heart that the Cahills are not, as of yet, my in-laws. There're still a couple years of college for me and Amy to get through. I'll be sure to update you anytime we have a squabble so you can swoop in and console the weeping maiden. ;)

Many thanks for the scientific name. A simple "cat" would suffice. What've you done to some poor beast this time?

-Evan

**To:** Evan Tolliver

**Re**: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, Tikhaya Bay, Franz Josef Land, Ru…

Tolliver,

The pleasure of our mutually beneficial interactions over the World Wide Web is all mine, I assure you.

I shall be sure to do so. Please abstain from further use of emotioncons, particularly those that involve corruption of the rightmost half of parentheses. I totally abhor said abominations.

I have done nothing to the wretched creature, as a matter of fact. As usual, it's actually the other way around. It would seem that one of the horrid beasts has somehow found its way into the ancestral home of Natalie and myself, and has busied itself with the most heinous crimes imaginable. I haven't seen the animal, personally, but I assure you that there is a surplus of evidence that it is indeed still within my home. If you would care to offer a theory in regards to ridding myself of the menace, you are most welcome to; I'm sure said theory would be erroneous, but I know that you enjoy your petty imaginings, so have at it.

-Ian Augustus Kabra

**To:** Ian Kabra

**Re:** Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, Tikhaya Bay, Franz Josef Land, …

That's "emoticons", Kabra. I'll make sure I will, promise. :) :) :)

You must have done something to offend it, really. Sometimes I think animals just don't like you. Amusing insults aside, though, exactly what kind of "heinous crimes" is it supposedly committing? It's probably something like shredding your finest silk boxers. Shame.

-Evan

**To:** Evan Tolliver

**Re:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, Tikhaya Bay, Franz Jos…

Oh, I suppose you think that's amusing, don't you. Very well. Play your childish emoticon games. I shan't respond – I consider myself above such things.

Don't be a prat, Tolliver. I'll have you know that I've sustained wonderful and fulfilling relationships with companion animals. The feline is indeed launching an offensive on my clothing, and I'll thank you not to comment on the material of which my drawers are made. Your girlfriend's barely discernible stuttering may be slightly flattering, but I honestly don't think I can deal with the idea of more than one besotted American dwelling upon mental images of my undergarments "all the live-long day", as one of your own folk-song writers so quaintly put it.

Proud of my physical appearance though I may be, my clothes are not the greatest problem, Tolliver – and neither are Natalie's, in the unlikely event that she's been in contact with you recently and has been feeding you said sob story. In all seriousness, though, I do fear for the safety of some of our antiques. There is evidence that that creature is showing an interest in the fringe of the famed seventeenth century Luke tapestry, for example, and it's made short work of any ceramics within leaping distance. Your amateur suggestions of ways to deal with this will be scoffed at, but do feel free to send them.

-I. A. K.

P.S. I finally caught the creature on camera. It looks like – and these are honestly the only words that can describe it, Tolliver, so don't mock me – a black shape with a variegated perimeter. Black shapes with variegated perimeters disgust me. They are reminiscent of the time that a clumsy commoner spilt coffee on my finest white jacket in the midst of a high-speed chase. It did not wash out. Alas.

**To:** Ian Kabra

**Re:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, Tikhaya Bay, Fran…

Good. You shouldn't be angry. I was just trolling you a little bit. :)

Sure. Okay. You've had "wonderful and fulfilling relationships with companion animals". Get me some proof and I'll believe you, Kabra. And those underwear comments? Not mature at all. Do your family (and me) a favor and grow up, please.

I've never heard of this famous Luke tapestry. Oh well, must be the inborn stupidity that comes of being a non-Cahill. You should try squirting citrus juice around the items you don't want the cat to mess with – most cats really hate the smell of it, but most humans like it, so it's really a win-win situation. It actually doesn't work on Saladin, although he's intelligent enough that if you tell him to stay off of something he will.

-Evan

P.S. I don't really care what it looks like, Ian, but if you decide to keep it you could call it Coffee.

**To:** Evan Tolliver

**Re:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, Tikhaya Bay…

_Trolling?_ I am not at all familiar with that term. Have you, perchance, changed your surname to something more fitting? Evan Trolliver…it really does suit you, you know…

Even if I had proof, we both know that you wouldn't believe me. You would say that I had photoshopped whatever image I provided. In response to your dissuasion with my underwear implications, I'd just like to ask since when does the truth upset poor little Trolliver?

I had no idea that non-Cahills had inborn stupidity, although looking at you as a specimen, I would definitely believe it. Surprisingly enough, the citrus juice tip worked, and even more surprisingly I quite like the scent. I don't suppose you have any idea how to get the little bastard out of my home altogether, though, and as I have already said: if you did you'd most likely be wrong. You certainly are far from the most intelligent person I have had the displeasure of meeting.

-I. A. K.

P.S. I am most certainly not keeping the hoodlum. What sort of a person calls a cat Coffee, anyways? The name suggests that you intend to drink its blood or do something equally ghastly to it. Good Lord, Trolliver – and here I was thinking you appreciated the awful beasties.

**To:** Ian Kabra

**Re:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, Tikha…

That's very funny, Kabra. If it makes you feel better about your inability to spell, by all means keep calling me that.

You seem to have a low estimation of my morality. That's very encouraging, really. To be honest, I don't think I'm the only one involved in this conversation who's upset by the truth. Which one of us was it, again, who left the room in a huff after Dan complained about frequent nocturnal travels between the bedrooms at the last Cahill reunion? (And I'll have you know that he actually wasn't referring to me. Or Amy. Thanks.)

I'm sure you would, knowing your bias against me. What's really surprising is that I'm still interested in helping you with your ridiculous problem when I should just stop responding and tell you to go find out what Google is. Oh well, I guess I am an idiot. Why don't you just use your crafty Lucian brain and build a neat little trap for the cat? Try baiting it with fish. Cats absolutely love seafood. Oh yeah – thank you so much for that final debilitating comment. I really needed that.

-Evan

P.S. I was thinking you might grow attached to it. Guess not. And honestly, you're the only person I've ever met who has those feelings about naming a cat after a drink. It's a very disturbing opinion, actually.

**To:** Evan Tolliver

**Re:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubini, T…

I shall do so, Trolliver.

Well, with comments like that, you leave no doubt about your own maturity level, do you not? That reunion was two years ago, and I left the room due to a sudden bout of indigestion. I couldn't care less what you and your girlfriend are doing together, thank you very much – what a sordid suggestion.

In any case, I managed to trap the cat. You most likely don't believe it, but I did recall that that demonic animal of Amy's has a strange craving for blue marlin, and procured some of the finest for use in my trap. I didn't feel the need to design anything terribly complicated, so I simply scaled down a model B99 A-grade bear trap (design exclusive to the branch, obviously) used by some of the Canadian Lucians. It's actually mostly obsolete by now, but I thought it would do the trick quite nicely, as its purpose is to simply keep the animal from escape without sedating or killing it. I later decided that I ought to have used a different design, preferably a fatal one, but it was too late by then.

The moment I was alerted to the trap's having been sprung, I exited my room. (By the way, Tolliver, it was approximately 2:00 A.M. Is it natural for any animal to be active at that time? I've already had the creature checked for rabies, of course, but am curious what feline disorders manifest themselves through insomnia.) I made my way cautiously down the hallway and was honestly thrilled to discover that the trap had worked as advertised, though the beast was making a horrid racket. The noise emitting from the trap caused me to mistrust the evidence that my security cameras had provided; I was quite certain for a moment that I had not captured a house cat, but rather the Beast of Exmoor or some such animal. Then, of course, I moved around to the front and got a proper look at it. It was actually quite scrawny and very small.

Not knowing what exactly should be done to pacify the creature, I hurriedly procured more blue marlin and fed the horrid beast with the help of a pair of gently used kitchen tongs. Using my intimate knowledge of psychology, I assigned a name to the animal that referred to a small white marking on its forehead: a vaguely star-shaped blotch, barely off-center to the right. As I happen to know, although you seem to be sadly unaware of this fact, it is extremely disconcerting to hear oneself referred to as a sort of food or beverage. Therefore, I did not call the feline "Vanilla" or "Milky" or "Messy Bit of Flour". Instead I gave it a very proper, decent name that I'm sure it would be quite proud of, were it sentient. I just bet you'd like to know what it was.

-I.A.K.

**To:** Ian Kabra

**From:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala Rubin…

It's nice to know that you've solved that problem, Ian (although Saladin's favorite food is red snapper – no wonder he's narrowing his eyes at the screen disapprovingly as I type this). Seems like you sort of overkilled with that bear trap, but if it works for you, okay. And no, I'm not really interested in what you named it…

Anyways, good luck with the newest addition to the Kabra family, and please stop spamming my high-priority inbox with cat news now!

-Evan

**To:** Evan Tolliver

**From:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skala R…

I didn't name it, I simply referred to it as "Lily" in order to pacify it so that it wouldn't rip through the trap and maul me severely. Anyways, it's not "the newest addition to the Kabra family". I'll have you know that the moment the butler removed it from his head, I had him toss it down the trash chute – the one that leads to the incinerator. Kabras don't keep pets, Tolliver – only an outsider like you would entertain such an ide[p0o[okgtnj 4938nfvbnfg aewefasd asoj123ecfv ,,/l;p;'l[/

**To:** Evan Tolliver

**From:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at Skal…

Don't you dare insinuate that that was the beast stepping on my keyboard – ha, the idea! For your information, I am exercising reverse psychology on you. The animal was toast hours ago.

-I.A.K.

**To:** Ian Kabra

**From:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity at …

…Suuure.

Saladin says "meow" to Lily. :)

-Evan

**To:** Evan Tolliver

**From:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Possible Vesper activity …

Don't be so ridiculously sentimental, Tolliver.

-I.A.K.

P.S. …I'll tell her he said hello.

.oOo.


	3. 3: A certificate for achievements in

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 3. A certificate for achievements in piano study

Rating: K

Genre: Family

Characters: Ian Kabra, Amy Cahill, OC

Note: Just a _tiny_ little vignette/drabble with no real explanation. I don't even know if Amy and Ian are married or not. If you'd like them to be, or if you think it seems as if they are, then they can be. If you ship someone else with Amy (like me!) or you think they come off as just friends, then they don't have to be. Personally, I go with the latter interpretation, but it could swing either way.

.oOo.

"_Piano?_ Woman, your daughter's a Janus!" His eyes glinted roguishly as he balanced a gleeful seven-year-old on his left hip, studying an ornate slip of paper held carefully by one corner in the opposite hand. "Now do elaborate, how did that happen?"

Despite herself, her face split into a smile and she moved forward to tousle her daughter's short auburn hair. "A Janus, hm?" Her right eyebrow arched mischievously. "Well, I do seem to recall a rather out-of-hand party around a decade ago – vanquished the villainous Vespers and all, seemed to be cause for a celebration, and the night was really a blur, so if one thing had led to another I'm not quite certain I'd remember it and – "

"'The night was really a blur', was it? What exactly is that supposed to imply?" He swung the brown-haired child back down to the ground with a skillful grace. "Run along and put that up on the dishwasher, then, Nat."

The woman laughed. "I don't think we'll discuss those comestibles which tend to induce blurriness around my child, Ian. He means the refrigerator, Nataliya, and I'm _very_ proud of you," she added, turning her gaze to the girl, who giggled, shook her hair coquettishly, and fled in the direction of the kitchen.

"'Comestibles which tend to induce blurriness'? Eighteen-year-old Amy Cahill? Surely not!" His eyes sparkled as he shook his head in mock disbelief. "I'd have never believed you had it in you, love."

"Well, I admit that it may have happened, so you can start believing it," she said shortly, but her eyes were smiling. "And how many times do I have to ask you to stop calling me that?"

"It's been sixteen years, _love_." He smirked and dodged her playful smack. "I fully intend for my aggravating linguistic habits to become the stuff of Madrigal legend."

"You do it so often that you may actually be in luck there," she admitted ruefully, turning to Nataliya, who'd re-entered the room and was now tugging silently on the edge of her mother's shirt. "Can't find any magnets, Liya? Never mind." She shot a wicked grin at the man beside her. "I know exactly who will help you out."

.oOo.


	4. 4: A letter with seven stamps

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 4. A letter with seven stamps

Rating: K

Genre: Family

Characters: Amy Cahill, Dan Cahill

Note: One of the less imaginative, not-so-well-written pieces in this collection. I imagine that it takes place after Into the Gauntlet, but prior to VR. It could also, I suppose, fit into that part near the beginning of Maze of Bones right after the funeral, or could even be pre-series, whatever you like. In any case, this wasn't meant to be utterly profound, hence the lack of expounding on the emotion and pouring forth loads of angst in the narrative. It's supposed to be far simpler than that.

.oOo.

Her hands are on her hips, but her elbows still relaxed. She isn't upset then, doesn't really suspect that he's up to anything _completely_ illegal, but he hears the accusation hovering in her voice. "What have you got there?" she's asking even now, an eyebrow arching and quivering as it tries to curve proudly up; it's just another one of the little tics that never even needed to grow familiar as he grew older, since it had already been a part of her since before he could remember.

"Nothing," he replies, but when he slides past her against the slick banister, _more agile than Saladin_ flashing through his mind as he does so, he lets his arm drag behind him and loosens his grip on the tatty envelope just so she can tug it from his hands with minimal effort. "It's old," he offers, as she scans the front of the envelope silently, "and so that's why, well, you see."

She turns the grubby tan thing around gingerly, and he's again treated to a full view of the front, his name and address written blockily and messily across the top of the package, and seven stamps scattered haphazardly across it; two of the stamps have pansies on them and four have solemn, spotted tabby cats and the one stuck right in the middle features a white dove with wings outstretched.

dear MOMMY and DAD,

hi and how are you? I am writing you this from GRACE's house and just am saying that I miss YOU and to please get home. soon. THANK YOU.

LOVE love love LOVE love

xoxoxo

DAN DAN DAN

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Amy doesn't say a word at first as she slides the fragile, slightly crumpled paper back into the envelope with infinite care, as though it were a brilliant medical breakthrough, a letter from centuries ago, a check for a million million dollars, a story that contained all the truth behind human life. Then she breathes in deeply but softly, and holds that breath for a nearly painful moment before her left arm draws the letter closer to her and her right arm reaches out, almost questioningly, to lay a feather-light touch on Dan's shoulder with a brush of her fingers.

"Was it after, or before?" she asks quietly, and Dan knows what she means.

He shakes his head and tells the simple truth. "I don't remember."

But does it really matter now?

_I am writing this from Grace's house and am just saying that I miss you._

Dan's eyes meet Amy's, and then all of a sudden her arms are around him, pulling him close almost fiercely, and somehow the letter doesn't crumple between them as he buries his face in her shoulder and hugs her tightly in return.

_I miss you._

Really, he knows, they both do.

.oOo.


	5. 5: A brand new accordion

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 5. A brand new accordion

Rating: K

Genre: Romance

Characters: Jonah Wizard/Sinead Starling

Note: Takes place years after the Vespers were beaten; these two are in their mid-twenties. Warning for a crack pairing, obviously. I don't normally ship Jonah _or _Hamilton with Sinead, but this plot bunny hopped into my head when I started thinking about what I could write for this prompt and wouldn't leave. For those of you who were deprived of classic cartoons in your youth, the reference at the end is to the iconic "Buena Notte" scene in Lady and the Tramp.

.oOo.

"Explain something to me, hon." She flicks his shoulder with her hand as she sails up behind him and settles solidly against him on the piano bench, where he's busily tapping away at his custom communications device, not creating music or even looking up the creations of other great composers. From the looks of it, he's working on a second or third draft of a diplomatic e-mail to a high-ranking Lucian official – she knows it's not going to be sent off anytime soon, since she hasn't even had a look at it yet. She edits all of his documents, and then after his professional editor has a go at them, she edits them again. Like some couples jog together and others take quarterly weekend trips out to a beach cabin, this is just one of their rituals, his admission of his own fallibility and her chance to stoop to help someone less mentally endowed than she. And he is a branch leader, after all; they don't tend to have time for all the silly nothings everybody else has. Still they go on together; it can't be imagined any other way, and yet, and yet –

He saves his progress with a single fluid movement, tosses the flat sleek object up onto the piano top with an air of nonchalance, and turns his head so that he can breathe in the simple clean scent of her thick hair. "Mmmhmm?" he mumbles, arm drifting around her shoulders and pulling her closer. "Distract me for a minute, then. I know I could use it."

"Kabra trying to subtly block your plans again, huh?" she asks, momentarily distracted from her original purpose. "We'll show him nicely why it just won't work for a monopoly on the lumber market to be established by _any_ Cahills. I thought we'd beaten him back already anyways. But of course, that's Ian for you."

"Actually, it's our old friend Natalie coming after me and it's not about lumber." He chuckles ruefully. "As a matter of fact, she's complaining about the wedding plans, says it could cause a huge breach of security, and who knows what sort of attention we'll be drawing to ourselves, et cetera, et cetera, and so forth. More of the same, you know? Right about now, she's trying to get permission for several scores of Lucian guards to occupy the premises, and I am not exaggerating that figure. Obviously I told her that's not happening, but she won't take no for an answer."

"'Scores', is it now?" She moves away from him just a bit, readjusts herself on the piano bench, and then curls up against his side once more, tugging her oversized T-shirt so that it falls comfortably around herself. "See, this is why I'm marrying you. All those other girls, we both know they'd be on you in an instant, but I found myself a man who regularly, shamelessly lapses into Elizabethan English and by God I was going to keep him." A smirking grin spreads across her face. "Now, that brings me back to my original question, and though I know you'd probably like this cleverly-disguised distraction to continue for a while, I'm completely confused and need an answer to this as soon as possible."

"'At the length, truth will out,'" he quotes blithely, eyes twinkling. "And before you ask, my love, that _is_ a quote that I have decided to use completely out of context. That said, what is it that you need an answer to?"

Again she slides down the polished wood bench, out from under his arm. "It's easier to show you than tell you. I will never understand the Janus branch, for all that I'm engaged to one of them. Here, it's right where I unwrapped it…" Her voice and footsteps fade almost completely away as she hurries from the parlor and down the long, shining hall, and then grow louder as she returns. "What I don't understand is, Jonah, why would _anyone_ – even a Janus – send this as a wedding present?"

At the sight of the shining accordion, resplendent in its audacity and seeming as proud of its unsavory status as an inanimate object could possibly be, he doesn't bat an eyelash. He is, however, surprised; for all that the Janus are reputed to be music-loving art buffs, they _do_ tend to have better taste in wedding gifts than this, and he and Sinead _have_ suggested enough dish and linen patterns, décor themes, defense mechanisms, and books to keep anyone from needing to resort to such drastic measures. Anyways, he already has several accordions. But all the same, he doesn't feel the need to tell this to his betrothed – not now, at least.

"Drag it over here and I'll show you," he suggests instead, and she does so, sitting a few feet away from him this time so as to allow him room to play.

He lifts it carefully, fingers playing over its surface delicately as they remember again the feel of an accordion, one of the instruments he plays least frequently. "So, you didn't watch cartoons as a kid, yeah?" he murmurs, only half aware of the world around him as he focuses on the sensation of holding a myriad of sounds in his hands, poising himself to play.

"No," she says simply, tilting her head to the side engagingly, and he finds himself wishing that his hands weren't full of accordion right this moment. Instead of dropping it, though, he carefully plays the opening notes of a song familiar to him, but obviously not so to her.

"Then I guess the irony of asking you out to a filling dinner of spaghetti and meatballs tonight will just have to be lost," he jokes, and sets forth into the song.

.oOo.


	6. 6: A flickering lamppost

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 6. A flickering lamp-post

Rating: K+ (for some violence and blood)

Genre: Crime/Horror

Characters: OCs

Note: Some Cahills who were not as important to history as some of their relatives meet each other on the street. Takes place in the 17th or 18th century, in some place which had not been thoroughly explored by Cahills yet. You may decide whether this means a continent (e.g. North America), a country (e.g. Switzerland, Russia) or simply a town. I promise to write something soon that portrays the Tomas in a more favorable/intelligent light.

.oOo.

It seemed that they were swept in by the harsh north wind, so swiftly they appeared. Cloaks drawn fast about them, hoods tugged low, layers of socks under heavy leather boots weighing down their feet, they still seemed almost weightless as they stood together in the weak light.

In the growing shadows, their darkening only hastened by the oncoming storm, the deep virgin snow was very nearly blue, piled into smooth drifts like pillows and shaped by the harsh wind. Flurries of cold wet flakes chased each other down the street, whirling and tumbling with a fierce purpose, and vanished into the same smoky shadows. But under the throbbing light, where it yet felt halfway safe, a pale golden hue was cast upon the white covering, and upon the ice-crusted garments of the men who stood beneath it, one tall and strong, the other frail and hunched.

No word was spoken by either, and if a sign was given, it was so subtle that it could not be detected by an outsider. Still, for a moment they stood silently, face to face, seemingly held there by some invisible force. An aging wooden sign creaked above them, the painted insignia of a hammer nearly faded from it.

"So, then, I'm not the only 'un." The taller stranger performed a strange sort of half-bow to the stooped figure before him, his right arm twitching up towards his head as though to doff a cap. "I'd thought perhaps we Tomas 'ad got a lead on you all for once. Hah, not likely, knowin' your slippery ways. But still."

For a moment, the crooked-backed man spoke not, and when his reply came it was silent, as he stretched forth his hand with almost painful slowness. The clawlike appendage quivered with age as it reached up towards the broad shoulder of the other man, shaking uncontrollably as it settled, but once it had done so, its grip was vicelike.

Uneasy for the first time since he'd come face to face with his cousin, the Tomas shifted, dark brows furrowing. "Look 'ere, I want no trouble, you. Ye're just an old fellow, after all, and far be it from me to 'arm you. But as ye're a Lucian, how's about you just return to wotever 'ole you came crawling out of – "

With an uninterested jerk of his head, the elderly man stared his younger relative in the face, then deftly adjusted his grasp on the other's cloak, tugged him closer as though to intimately whisper a secret into his ear. Moving like a striking serpent, he coolly drove the dagger he'd concealed under his sleeve into the Tomas' throat, and with the wind, was gone, spurning the dying man's feeble attempt to clutch at him.

Beneath the lamplight the Tomas lay, losing consciousness as blood leaked steadily from the wound and trickled down either side of his neck, the dark stain spreading around his head in the snow. It was cold and the wind was shrieking incessantly now, the sign banging frantically, and all of a sudden a slight figure was bending over the well-built young man, long dark hair tinged with strands of silver flying about its slender face. The woman's slender fingers crept under his cloak, finding the secret pocket over his chest with laughable ease, and as she pulled forth the folded letters and a bright smile lit her face, the sputtering lamplight caught the silver of the dragon pendant that swung about her neck. Then the dying flame finally guttered out, succumbing to the wild wind at last.

.oOo.


	7. 7: A TV screen covered by a pink blanket

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 7. A TV screen covered by a pink blanket

Rating: K

Genre: Friendship/Tragedy

Characters: Grace Cahill, William McIntyre

Note: What is this, I don't even. The _next_ oneshot will be a great deal lighter than the two preceding it, in any case. This takes place directly before the prologue in A Maze of Bones. Enjoy.

.oOo.

It didn't quite make sense anymore.

In days not long gone by, the drone of the comparatively plebeian news channel had almost comforted her. Strange how she'd worked tirelessly throughout her life for the reuniting of this family, yet at the end she turned from the elite Madrigal channels to this slow, sputtering mockery that the rest of the world hung upon day by day. Now, though, even the simple syllables forming the news of some trivial passing thing – what the weather this weekend was going to be like, perhaps, or a minor legal battle over the cutting down of an obstructive dead tree – required intense concentration to catch.

The words faded into white noise, then bravely resurfaced again in attempts to convey their message before again being submerged in an audile blur, a fuzz of meaningless sound. Grace allowed herself to settle back against the wrinkled pillow, eyes drifting almost completely shut as she felt rather than saw or heard her cat leap up onto the bed beside her. Saladin was back by her side after only a brief sojourn, so perhaps that meant…

Abruptly the reporter's brisk tones, which had again tried to leap out from the haze of noise, ceased, along with the humming and popping and distortion of the background accompaniment. Instinctively, Grace's spine straightened insofar as it was possible and her keen eyes snapped open, immediately resting on William McIntyre, whose forefinger still ghosted over the power button of her practically archaic television.

_Well, come on in, then, McIntyre,_ she wanted to say, but couldn't yet find the strength, so instead she tilted her head briefly to one side, her right hand reaching out and stroking Saladin's dappled silver head softly.

William looked at a loss for a moment – perhaps, she thought idly, he felt that strange respect for the dying that was so alien to a Cahill who'd lived to be as old as Grace herself. It wasn't as if that was going to hurt him, exactly, but there was business to attend to and an uncertain but uncomfortably short amount of time to attend to it in. With a feeling akin to impatience, she tapped the coverlet briskly with her left hand. _Get moving, William._

He very nearly flinched at the direction, surprised, maybe, by the sudden near-sharpness of the movement. His quick movement became a jerk towards a thick knit pink blanket, folded lopsidedly, that had been perched on the edge of a dark wooden chair in a haphazard manner. With a brisk shake, the lawyer had it unfolded, and with another quick movement he'd tossed it over the television.

_And what is that going to do, my old companion?_ Grace wanted to ask drily, but she saved her breath. It had never been in her to question others' absurdities, and certainly she wasn't going to take up that habit now, with so few sentences left for her to speak. And so the impromptu covering of the television lingered, a thin but sacred veil between even the most innocuous of eye-like devices in the shadowy room, and very nearly a guardian in its own right.

.oOo.


	8. 8: An antique silver jewelry box

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 8. An antique silver jewelry box

Rating: K

Genre: Humor/Friendship

Characters: Saladin

Note: Makes no more sense than the rest of these oneshots, and Saladin is characterized a bit less intelligently than I usually imagine him...but then usually he's a supporting character, and isn't verbalizing his thoughts, so go figure. :-)

.oOo.

This thing here, it is shiny, and it has many ridges that are lovely to scratch one's cheek against. It has a beautiful smell, like people-skin and musty damp dark spaces and little mousies and maybe even some blood, and I love it very much.

I know that this thing here is old and precious, and do you know how I know that?

Well, Grace and I found it together, and I mostly did it. You see, it was in a very musty damp dark space, which it still smells very much like, and I often just come and sit by it and smell that. The things that I find are my favorite things, and it makes me very happy when Grace keeps them in the Big House, because it shows that she has appreciation for me, so that makes me happy. Also, I know the stories behind those things, even more than the others.

Anyways.

Grace and I found it together, and Grace was very happy when I slipped into that little cramped musty damp dark space and gave her a nice loud _Mrrp_, which sometimes means _I_ _need red snapper NOW_, but also sometimes means _Hey you, person, come here and see what I have discovered._ It also means other things, but those are mostly the important things, especially the first, and this time it meant the second. So Grace was happy and she pulled out the box, so that is why it smells like people-skin, because Grace pulled it out. It does not smell like perfume or makeup or Tomas Natural Body Odor, which are all irritating to my nose, but it just smells like Plain Old Grace, and I do very much enjoy that good smell.

And even though Grace was very happy, I was not, because I do not normally go into musty damp dark spaces because of the damp, since even though I am not a normal stupid house cat and even though I can swim and even though I do love the smell of musty damp dark spaces because they remind me of my happy times alone with Grace trying not to be killed by Psychotic Cahills, I do not like dampness on my feet, because it is uncomfortable. I had only gone into this damp space because I smelled many mousies, but I could not find the mousies, only this ridged flat-sided thing with pointed edges.

The mission was very boring, because we didn't even find much, since the information in this thing here that I found was only things that Grace knew already, mostly. But then at the end of the mission, before we knew that and right when we had gotten on the Madrigal helicopter and Grace was petting me with one hand and opening the thing up with the other hand, because you see, the thing is hollow inside, three mousies came bouncing up out of the thing, and Grace screamed and her pilot gave a sort of shout also and I chased those mousies and gulped them down and then I was very very happy.

Now, see, this carved thing has on it these snakey sorts of things, and they are breathing fire. It has a lock which is not much use, as the mousies even figured out how to get through it, but it is very pretty. I do not like snakes much, because they are sometimes frightening and also have stolen mousies that I was going after sometimes. The snakey sorts of things have legs like geckoes, and long claws, even longer than mine, and wings like bats, which are crunchy and yummy to eat, better than rats but not as good as dovies or mousies. Yum, mousies. Anyways, the snakey things mean that this carved ridged thing belongs to not Grace, but another Cahill, who knows many things and makes traps to keep me and Grace hidden in musty dark damp spaces trying not to die. The family of Grace is a very sad and strange sort of family – they do not like mousies at all, even though they are so strange that they do not even like each other, and –

Oh yes, mousies, I had been forgetting.

See, I love this carved thing very much, and since it is hollow inside and the lock does not work, I use it for a very special thing. When I have caught myself a mousey but I am not very hungry at all, I take the mousey right here to this hollow shiny ridged thing, which is standing in the corner of a corridor that nobody uses much, and I put it right in there and save it for later. Often I forget my mousey because I find another one, and then a maid finds it on the weekend and screams loudly, and sometimes if I am too close it is scary, but mostly it is funny.

Now Grace is calling me. I have to go. It may be time for us to run off to some place and hide in musty dark damp spaces and try not to die. Goodbye, mousey!

.oOo.


	9. 9: A garden gnome missing an arm

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 9. A garden gnome missing an arm

Rating: K

Genre: Friendship

Characters: Evan Tolliver, OC

Note: Nataliya, the Amy's-young-daughter-OC of intentionally dubious paternity, returns! This time she and Evan are doing some gardening together, but will their differing opinions of creepy-crawlies lead to some kind of altercation? Due to the aforementioned intentionally dubious paternity, you may feel free to regard this story's premise as either "gardening with Daddy" or "gardening with Uncle Evan".

.oOo.

"Let's see…we've got a rake, not sure what we need that for, and some, um, some seeds of some sort, not too sure what to do with those, but I'm sure they have directions on the back, and let's see, a few bags of compost, it'll be interesting to figure out what exactly those are for, now, I know we're missing something – _Liya, drop that worm!_"

The brown-haired toddler had, true to that name bestowed upon her age group by society, toddled away while he was taking an inventory of their gardening supplies, and was now sitting comfortably on a mound of dirt, hands and mouth covered with soil as she cooed contentedly to a disgustingly squirmy pink earthworm held clumsily in her left hand. He didn't like to admit it to himself – and in all honesty wasn't reminded of the fact that often, given his career – but he had an absolutely irrational fear of worms, probably stemming from that unfortunate time when his older cousin, even more of a bookworm than Amy and therefore able to be completely trusted in Evan's opinion, had told him that Nonna's spaghetti was made of bloody, skinned worms. Ever since then, he hadn't been able to stand the things. Unfortunately, young Nataliya did not share those particular sentiments, being fascinated with everything tiny that crawled on the ground; this extended to cockroaches and spiders, which caused her mother no little alarm.

Right now, Liya seemed to be intent upon ignoring him, although he wasn't sure whether she'd heard him or not. She dangled the worm cheerfully in front of her face, eyes crossing and uncrossing as she sang something nonsensical to it. "Hi!" she said cheerfully as Evan strode up to her, wondering all the while how to get her to let go of that. "Look at d'worm!"

"Yeah, Liya, I… I really like your worm. How about you put him back in the dirt and help me get started on this gardening?"

"No thank you," the girl replied happily, tossing her short hair and staring at the earthworm again as if hypnotized. "It's a her."

Nataliya had been going through one of those stages lately, Evan reflected, where she wouldn't listen to anyone besides Amy, and that only some of the time. He might as well get started by himself, although he had a feeling that he was missing something without which it might be difficult to garden. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of what that thing was. He had seeds, compost, and a rake…well, then, he'd need a hose to water the garden, but only when he was done. Lost in thought as he paced back and forth, he didn't notice what was heading for his toe until it was too late.

Evan yelped and barely restrained a colorful exclamation as the garden gnome fell on its back in the dirt with a _clunk_, still maintaining its oddly creepy grin. "I _knew_ I should have stayed inside and finished fixing the firewall," he moaned, wishing that his foot hurt less so he could deliver another kick to the thing. "It would be easier than _gardening_."

"She's broken," Liya said philosophically, coming up behind Evan without a sound and clutching his pants leg.

Blinking stupidly, Evan glanced down at Nataliya, then back at the gnome. It was true; the little man was missing his right arm, which seemed to have once been raised above his head. But it didn't seem to have come off when its owner had collided with Evan's foot moments ago, as the arm was nowhere to be seen. "It's a he," Evan corrected automatically as he bent down to pick up the colorful, very obviously bearded dwarf.

"She, 'cause it's pretty," insisted the girl stubbornly, making a beeline for something in the groundcover surrounding the dwarf that Evan couldn't see.

"So since I'm a he, does that mean I'm _not_ pretty?" Evan asked as Nataliya crouched down to pick up whatever she'd found. He was aware that he was baiting her in order to get a funny response, but being Liya, she might come up with something unexpected.

Instead, she rose to the bait simply and directly as she picked up the colorful object and toddled back to him. "Uh-huh," she informed him solemnly.

"That's nice to know," he told her gravely, reaching out a hand for what he could now identify as the gnome's missing arm. "What's he holding, Liya?"

"Shuvva'," Liya said, flinging the arm blithely at Evan, who barely managed to catch it by the tip of the ceramic trowel it was holding – oh. Oh, yes. A trowel. _That _was what he needed.

"Okay, Nataliya, you stay right here," he directed her, backing away. "I'm going to run over to the gardening shed and get some shovels and some glue for this little guy. Also, I'm going to call for the gardener, since I seem to lack a green thumb – _why _couldn't non-Cahills be born with something a little bit useful, like that – and I'll be right back – " Evan froze.

Ignoring him again, Liya had made her way back to the patch of disturbed earth where she'd been sitting a few minutes ago, and it was obvious what she was going to do, as the earthworm hadn't had the sense to tunnel back underground again in her absence.

"And Liya, _don't touch that worm!"_

As Evan disappeared around a large bush, Liya reached the worm. She blinked at it, then blinked in the direction Evan had gone, as if weighing her options. Then she reached out tentatively and stroked the worm's head with one finger. It wriggled. She laughed and picked it up.

.oOo.


	10. 10: A stage with black curtains

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 10. A stage with black curtains

Rating: K

Genre: General

Characters: Jonah Wizard

Note: In which future!Jonah has a Moment with himself. The idea for this came completely out of left field and I will be the first to readily admit that this story doesn't really have a point, but then, none of these do. The bulk of this story was written many months ago, and it was just finished yesterday, so if the ending seems tacked on, that's why. So with no further ado, here you go, and yes, this is one of the weaker ones. (O ho ho, that crazy Evamy shipper is indeed back, and she's writing more fic. Be very afraid. ;D )

.oOo.

_- A stage with black curtains_

The auditorium is empty and silent as death. The footlights are turned off, as are all of the overhead lights and every spotlight but one, focused on center stage. Its golden glow is weak and pulsing, speaking clearly of a failing bulb needing to be changed.

Jonah's footsteps are quiet on the carpeted steps that lead down through the rows of seats, but once he begins to ascend up to the stage on wooden stairs, each step seems louder than the last, with the creaking of the stage beneath his feet and the _clack_ of shoes on a hard surface. He walks across the stage without a sound, not pausing or faltering in his stride until he stands in the wavering beam of light, looking out into the nearly complete darkness.

It's become a ritual for him throughout his professional life – no matter what job he takes to occupy himself in the time he's not managing the affairs of the Janus branch, he always seems to find himself back on the stage. First it was as a Shakespearean performer, time and again, but later on it became more varied. Once he directed a musical. Three or four times after that he threw caution to the winds and got up on that stage himself and acted. Then – he's not sure anymore how he was turned to this path – he began to teach. First he taught elementary school music class, for a few years, and then changed to high school English, where he could try to share his love of Shakespeare with whoever would listen. Now he has signed on at a new school, where he'd be teaching theater, and once more he finds himself alone on stage in the darkness and quiet.

As he closes his eyes, momentarily blinded by the light shining directly down upon him, Jonah thinks he can almost hear the roar of the crowds, cheering madly in some faraway place at the back of his mind, reaching through the darkness and silence. And yet – somehow – he pays the memory no heed. He is Janus through and through, he always will be, but the idolizing cry of a million million voices no longer holds any meaning, nor carries any weight.

No, it's far too late for that. He's not felt that way in years, be it for good or ill. Even if he wished that they would return, and he's not sure whether he does or not, he knows that those sensations – surging with the crowd's emotions, dancing on the power of the sounds that burst from their throats, an endless high – would not return with the voices that had once sparked them into being.

But in the end, that's okay.

"All's well that ends well," Jonah says under his breath, and on impulse stretches his arms out towards where the imaginary audience stands, embracing them all for a brief moment before his arms fall and he walks away.

.oOo.


	11. 11: An open door

**Title:** Family

**Fandom:** The 39 Clues

**Summary:** Everything that makes up the world's biggest extended family in 100 stories.

**Disclaimer:** The 39 Clues (c) its respective owners. I'm only playing around with characters.

**Author's note:** Based on 100 writing prompts found while surfing the Web. Genres will vary wildly, crack pairings and self-made fanon will abound, and updates may be sporadic, but I hope you'll all have fun reading this, as I intend to have writing it. _Unless otherwise noted_, none of these take place in the same universe and nothing past The Medusa Plot is canon. Moreover, as is usual for me, nothing found in the trading cards, the Black Book, or the website will ever be regarded as canon. All characters will be respected. Prompt ratings are unlikely to go past a high T. Requests (for pairing, characters, etc.; as detailed as you like) will all be considered, and those that are written will be dedicated to whoever requested them. Reviews and favorites will be met with gratitude.

Prompt**:** 11. An open door

Rating: K

Genre: General, Family

Characters: Amy Cahill

Note: Much like its predecessor, this one is really weird too, and just has one specific character in it, and may have an unfitting ending because it too was begun months ago and only just finished. Sorry. The next ones will hopefully be better.

.oOo.

Nearly all of the doors were blasted to little chips of smoking wood in the last attack, and the few that weren't hang askew on their hinges. Several are missing great chunks of their formerly clean-cut edges, and all are liberally peppered with bullet holes. The back doors took the worst damage for sure – there's only one doorframe left looking at all like a doorframe should, and the great wooden double door leading into a charming parlor-breakfast room hybrid has been completely obliterated, no evidence of a door or a charming room ever having been where the great gaping hole is now, stretched wide like a wound in the mansion's side.

One must tread carefully when walking through the house now. Every great window has been shattered, the glass pieces on the floor looking for all the world like jagged-edged puddles of water or surprisingly fine slivers of ice. In the soft mid-morning sunlight – the only light source in the house right now – they twinkle and gleam gently against the dark hardwood floors, and could be almost beautiful were they not ever-present reminders of what has passed so very recently in this house.

Through that one unbroken doorframe is a startlingly cheerful panorama of life and light and summertime. The twitters and whistles and whoops and murmurs of a plethora of birds vary from ear-splittingly loud to nearly indistinguishable, and the faint drone of a few courageous crickets provides a neutral auditory background of sorts. Weaving through the songs of the animals is the rustling of breezes in the tops of the trees and through the overgrown grass that runs wild over the grounds of the mansion. In the great expanse of the sky, a flawless azure spreads behind a panorama of fluffy silver clouds, which are liberally sprinkled throughout the heavens. The sun's rays are clearly visible as they slant out from behind a white cloud that's drastically shaded with hues of gray, looking almost as if you could touch them if you could only fly high enough.

It's into this unfitting utopia that Amy has been dropped, and she doesn't quite know what to make of it all. Yesterday night was too dark for her to see much more than the general outline of the damage; she'd wandered around the exterior of the house, somewhat shell-shocked by its ragged and worn appearance. It was a _new_ house, really – she couldn't stop returning to that thought, though she was unable to fathom the significance of it. It was a _new_ house, just a few years old. It wasn't supposed to look like this.

Now, as she examines the mansion more closely by the light of day, she sighs and tiredly reaches a hand up to tuck a few stray strands of hair back behind her ears. Is this going to be the Cahills' fate forever? Is this truly the measure of all she received along with her heritage?

She knows that it cannot be. She refuses to believe that it is.

Taking a deep breath, Amy Cahill closes her eyes, opens them again, and turns to the others, who've remained clustered in a quiet group a few feet behind her since this morning. She wishes that they wouldn't – Amy hates feeling like the leader, every decision and worry resting on her shoulders, although at the same time she knows that that's the reality and she must do the best she can.

"It's not so bad." She delivers the verdict in a calm voice with an inflection of gentle content, smoothing over the fear and doubt boiling into a storm deeper down, and smiles. "We can fix it. This isn't the end."

If only she could believe herself when she says that.

.oOo.


	12. 12: A house floating in mid-air

Prompt: 12. A house floating in mid-air

Rating: K

Genre: Friendship/General

Characters: Ian Kabra, Sinead Starling

Note:  As luck would have it, I came up with several Sinead drabble ideas before the most recent book came out. Well, this is another one that disregards post-TMP canon, then. Since the prompt was so unfitting for the universe, I wrote a conversation in which for some reason Sinead brought that up and Ian responded appropriately to character. Isn't one of my favorites, honestly. And it's teensy.

* * *

><p>"Not to put a damper on your oh-so-admirable enthusiasm, but firstly, that isn't exactly possible, and secondly, this sort of talk seems strangely out of character for you. Perhaps you should lie down for a while, let me handle the Center for a bit."<p>

"Oh, come on, Ian. Everyone's allowed to be an idiot sometimes. Even you. You just haven't grown up enough to realize that."

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

"…Sorry, I – "

"Well, I would expect you to be."

"No, I'm not sorry for saying that. Like I was going to say before you interrupted me, I think that came out wrong. Sorry about that. Not about what I said. Can I try to rephrase it?"

"No. You really had better take a break."

"Okay, I'll give it a shot, then. Hmm. When I say that, I don't mean everyone has to act like an idiot when they get older. I mean, that isn't necessarily a mark of maturity. But Ian, seriously, what people do learn when they get older is that people aren't predictable, and that – "

"And what on earth causes you to think that I haven't already learned that?"

"Well, I didn't say that – "

"Don't think I haven't. I can assure you, I know that very well."

"Oh, for the love of God, that's not what I'm trying to say."

"Well, if it truly is not, I fail to grasp your point, Sinead. Let me make that very clear, right now, before you continue."

"Now I have to keep trying to explain it, don't I, if you feel that way about it?"

"I don't understand that vein of logic at all. Go on and give up, it's not like I care. You're making no sense."

"That's why I think I have to rephrase that."

"Go ahead then, by all means. Good Lord, and I thought Ekats were supposed to be intelligent."


	13. 13: A dewy spider web

Prompt: 13. A dewy spider web

Rating: K

Genre: Family/Angst

Characters: Nikolai Spasky

Note: You would not believe the bevy of theories I had about this kid before CvV came out. One of my favorite 39 Clues families, and probably the littlest one. Poor Nikky probably had a lot of mornings like this one.

* * *

><p><em>(Where is she?)<em>

She spun it slowly and precisely last night in the corner of his window while he watched, entranced. His tiny house echoed with emptiness. Most of the lights were too hard for him to turn on. Just as far out of reach was the central heating, even though he didn't know how to adjust it to get warmer anyways, and he was too little to start a fire.

_(I'm scared.)_

Doing the best he could, he rifled through мамочка's sparse collection of blankets and bundled himself up in the little bedroom with a box of cookies and his math book. The spider was what caught his attention, though; he paused before curling up to work and eat, looking wistfully out the window and wondering when she'd be back, and saw the little creature going to work.

_(I'll see her as soon as she walks up if I stay here.)_

Eventually, of course, he tired of watching her weaving the tiny masterpiece, and yawned himself into a restless, uneasy sleep. When he awoke the next morning, head aching badly from resting on the windowsill all night long, a cool sharp draft of air wafted under the window against his face and the empty spiderweb glittered with dew. At first he thought that maybe мамочка had come home in the night too tired to say goodnight to him like usual, but when he abandoned his cozy blanket-nest by the window to explore the five rooms of their home, he found himself still alone.

_(Don't be dead I don't want you to be dead come home where are you?)_

In the end he returned to his room and ate a chocolate cookie for breakfast. Even though he didn't know what time it was – he was awful at reading clock faces despite being a big boy now – the sun was rising and he was hungry. Crumbs rained down onto the blankets as he munched away happily, lost in watching the dew burn away from the still near-perfect trap, and finally the spider crawled out from the little crack in the bricks where she'd been and set up house in the fine new web.

_(She's going to be okay, right?)_

He decided that all that was okay, then, and turned to his math with an air of benevolence. It was a little cold, but he had cookies and times-tables and a pile of blankets and a crafty spider to forget about that with. Мамочка would be home soon.

_(She has to be okay.)_


End file.
